Tag Archives: fall

Always

. . . But what is there

to be sad about? The moon

will wax orange, the trees

glow golden, and berries

pop their crimson heads out

for one last look before snow.

–Excerpt from “Always” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).

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Dahlias

. . . It seems just yesterday

that small, fat English robins

fluffed out their ruby breasts

among the willows, swallows swarmed

over scissortail meadows and, awaiting

the certain death of the hoarfrost, dragonflies lit,

iridescent, on dahlias that could not decide

whether to be purple or red.

–excerpt from “Dahlias” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag Press, 2014). First published in The New Writer.

When I Die

In autumn, may death surprise me

as I prepare for winter, store garden tools

in the garage, exchange cotton for wool,

listen for the heater’s low rattle,

put the kettle on for tea….

–Excerpt from “When I Die” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). First published in JAMA.

Lost Season

Soon grey-veined winter will burrow

into the violet heart of things,

camouflaged behind the shed

filled with garden tools. The ground

smells cold as an airport floor.

–Excerpt from “Lost Season” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). First published in Caveat Lector.

Lost Season

Autumn has deplaned.

Gold exhales brown. The peacock summer

spills into the fox’s den.

–Excerpt from “Lost Season” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2014). First published in Caveat Lector.

Lost Season

Trees leaped orange today

where mere blue looked on, windstruck.

The lawn shone green and tangerine.

–Excerpt from “Lost Season” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). First published in Caveat Lector.

When I Die

When I die, let it not be winter

sifting me into ash, the bitter ice

making me colder than extinction,

the ground too hard

to take my body into its arms,

the sky too heavy for my soul.

–Excerpt from “When I Die” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 2013). First published in Journal of the American Medical Association.